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Billows of time, that on the outskirts roam
Is it the fairy band's unearthly sound?
Or spirits whispering in the middle air?
Or swinging chains by which the stars are bound,
To guide their golden chariots every where?
Perchance 'tis Fancy's voice—the sound of dreams,
I paused—then, turning back the heavy bolt,
The door unbarred, which grated hoarse and low
Upon its rusty hinge. A glimmering lamp,
In one dim corner, pale and feebly burned,
As if to make a mockery of light;
And the white moon, with its thin silvery beams,
Flooded the blackened floor. 'Twas deathly still:—
On a rush mattress, in a tattered robe,
All night I sat in silence by her side,
Lifting his chained hands in vain •
To breathe a prayer of penitent remorse!
Like her's 1 must not think of this,
Lest I upbraid. 1 see the moon
In midnight grandeur roll
Upon her cloudless course;
And through those narrow bars
Even now I marked the change
That ever and anon, was wrought
By her wild passing dreams.
Then fixed on me her shuddering eyes,
And with a frantic scream—she fell!
THE SHADE OF SAMUEL.
Of power and honour no longer a token,
The crown of his glory all shivered and brokeD,
He mournfully leaned on the spear of his wrath,
And his cry wildly came in the silence of night,
Her form darker grew, like the moon in eclipse,
He hath come—he hath come—at her terrible word,
He hath come—he hath come—like a dream of the night,
So fearfully sudden he glides on the sight:
'Tis he! by that visage so awfully pale,
Like the cloud of the night that o'ershadows the vale.
'Say wherefore, O King! dost thou trouble my rest, The sleep of the holy in Abraham's breast?
Anointed of God—Lo! thy glory is gone,
With victory's star that once o'er thee hath shone.
'No more shall the voices be heard o'er the plain,
1 And the fate of the host shall be fearful as thine,
And Samuel hath gone, and the King is alone,
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.